


but i can regain myself (and recover)

by missgoalie75



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Trauma, Wakanda (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-28 02:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30132597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/pseuds/missgoalie75
Summary: “You’ve been deactivated. But while I’ve removed the neurological connections in your brain, those words in that particular order that can make you into the Winter Soldier, I cannot help with the hardest part.”| bucky starts healing.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & M'Baku, James "Bucky" Barnes & Shuri, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	but i can regain myself (and recover)

**Author's Note:**

> **characters/pairings:** bucky, shuri, t’challa, m’baku, natasha, steve, ocs, goats; PAST bucky/natasha [i tagged it to be on the safe side]
> 
>  **spoilers/warnings:** none – takes place in the time between the end of black panther and infinity war, and references some stuff from the comics; ptsd/trauma talk, vague references to past sexual encounters and masturbation
> 
>  **disclaimer:** standard disclaimers apply. title is from “recover” by the naked and famous. 
> 
> **a/n:** a year and nine months of being a wip and of course it’s done as soon as we’re going to get way more amazing content thanks to tfatws, which, bless. thank you annie for combing through this and sharing my interest in bucky healing, which i hope we all will able to do.

Bucky hears birds - that’s the first thing he processes. Then wind rustling through trees. More animals - 

Wait. 

He throws himself forward and he’s faced with a large, white screen that reads _Hello, Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, also known as “Bucky”!_ in bright blue.

He blinks and the screen changes. 

_As a reminder, you voluntarily agreed to be put in cryostasis while we figured a way to help you with your conditioning._

He reads it a few times and breathes easier as he inspects the pod he was placed in; the room is empty and small with one door right across from him. Once his blood pressure settles, there’s a ping and the screen changes.

_In one minute, you will be meeting Princess Shuri: younger sister to King T’Challa, and overall badass MOFO. Please enjoy this digital, moving portrait of Princess Shuri on the back of an elephant shooting lasers at colonials while you wait. Thank you for your patience!_

The screen changes to a slow moving, graphic illustration of Princess Shuri on the back of an elephant shooting lasers at white men in eighteenth century clothing. 

He finds himself smiling until the door slowly opens to reveal Princess Shuri. She has a large smile on her face, with her hair braided and wrapped into a bun on top of her head. Her Converse are bright green.

“Sergeant Barnes!” she greets. “It’s so good to see you! Well, to see you conscious. I’ve seen you unconscious a lot.”

He doesn’t know how to respond.

“Oh, you probably don’t know - I was doing the scanning and reading of your brain waves,” she explains, wiggling her fingers. 

He blinks in surprise.

“Don’t underestimate me because of my youth,” she warns him. “I’m the best of the best. Now, are you hungry? Perhaps you should eat before we dive in.”

“Not…really hungry. Maybe in a little,” Bucky says. He needs hours to adjust to being awake before eating.

(There’s comfort in certain things still being his after all this time.)

“Okay, let’s get you out of the pod!”

She steadies him since he doesn’t have his arm. When he looks down at the empty space, she explains that she’s working on an upgrade for him, since, “Hydra may be able to program a brain but they cannot make a decent prosthetic if they had all the vibranium at their disposal.”

Princess Shuri sits Bucky down and places her hands on the table, her back straight and she’s adopted a serious expression.

“Sergeant Barnes - “

“Just Bucky is fine.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” she starts again. “As I said, I have been studying your brain during the last few months – by the way, it's April twenty-second in the year 2017.” He only has time to blink in minor surprise before she continues on. “Anyway, as I was saying, I was studying your brain - how it’s wired, what activates certain neurological pathways - all that stuff that I find incredible and fascinating and I can already see your eyes glazing over.”

He looks down sheepishly.

She smiles mischievously and oh, she’s definitely a younger sibling.

“Long story short, I removed your trigger. It took…a lot of finagling - that’s such a funny word, don’t you think? I heard it used on the street. Anyway, it was very delicate work, but, you’ve essentially been deactivated.”

Bucky continues to stare at her, hoping for an explanation or details, but she doesn’t continue speaking. “How can you know that?” he asks finally.

Now she stares at him, all evidence of amusement gone. “ _Žilánie -“_

 __He snaps back and stumbles to his feet, the chair crashing behind him. “No.”

“ _Ržávyj, simnátsat_ ʹ _, rassvét -“_

 _“_ Stop, stop, stop –" he thinks he babbles, speaks Romani and Russian and Polish and Italian and Spanish.

“ _Péč_ ʹ _, dévjit_ ʹ _, dabrasirdéčnyj, ozvraščénije na ródinu –"_

 _“_ I can _kill you_ , everyone – _"_

_“Adín –"_

__“Stop,” he whispers. He’s on the floor with his hand over one ear and the other pressed to the ground. __

_“Gruzavój vagón.”_

__Bucky expects the pull to the back of his subconscious so much that he thinks it’s happening until he realizes he’s still on the floor. He hasn’t moved. His heart is beating loudly in his ears and he can’t seem to _breathe_ -

Princess Shuri slowly walks over to him and gently guides him to his back. He inhales deeply and shuts his eyes when the lights hit his eyes (he didn’t realize he was crying).

“As I said,” she says kindly. “You’ve been deactivated. But while I’ve removed the neurological connections in your brain, those words in that particular order that can make you into the Winter Soldier, I cannot help with the hardest part.”

Once he catches his breath, he exhales a laugh in disbelief. “That wasn’t the hardest?”

“No. You have to do the hardest part.”

“And what’s that?”

“Dealing with the trauma. While the words cannot change you into a mindless warrior, they strike fear into your heart and paralyze you. That is not something I can simply fix with rewiring your brain while you’re unconscious.”

“Why not? Isn’t it all…up here?” He gestures to his head.

She smiles a little. “It’s not just your mind, Sergeant Barnes. It’s everywhere in your body. That’s what makes it so difficult.”

He struggles sitting up with one arm, still shaken from before. He stares at her and can’t help but ask, “How old are you, exactly?”

She grins. “We’ll work well together. It’ll be fun.”

Bucky isn’t sure if that’s the correct word for it, but her enthusiasm in general is a bit confounding and ultimately kind of nice, so he keeps his mouth shut and he’s helped to his feet.

**

Princess Shuri forces him to drink a glass of water as she explains that trauma involves the entire body. She goes in depth into cognitive-behavioral factors, the biological like the noradreneric system (increased blood pressure, heart palpitations, sweating), hyperregulation of the HPA axis, all of which Bucky doesn’t understand a lick of - isn’t she supposed to be a tech person?

As she encourages him to eat a plate of food that he doesn’t recognize, but tastes pretty damn good, he realizes there’s a seamless relationship between the technology she creates and the human body and mind. 

Maybe it does make sense that she’s the one helping him.

**

“My brother and I have arranged a place for you to stay,” Princess Shuri explains as she leads him outside.

He turns back to look at the tower he had been kept in for the last few months. “I’m not staying in the lab?”

“Hah! No! Who do you think you are? A lab rat? Come, my brother is waiting and we can’t make the king wait.”

T’Challa – well, King T’Challa now – is talking with his guard - Okoye, if Bucky remembers correctly. Okoye gives him a look of pure disdain that he almost appreciates just for familiarity’s sake. 

“Ah, good, I take it everything went smoothly?” King T’Challa inquires, looking between Princess Shuri and Bucky. 

“Very much! Was going to take him to the village that he’ll be living in as he recovers. Do you still have time?”

“Yes. Okoye - you don’t have to –"

“I respectfully disagree, Your Highness,” she interrupts smoothly, taking care to send another pointed look Bucky’s way. 

Bucky keeps a safe distance while they walk. Princess Shuri is more than happy to fill the silence with endless quick chatter. He figures her speech is nothing in comparison to her brain, which must whirl faster than the speed of light. 

He’s told that they don’t speak much English, that he’ll have to learn Xhosa or struggle - according to Okoye. 

Princess Shuri hands him what she called kimoyo beads, telling him which bead will record his English and which bead will translate to Xhosa. 

“I think I’m just going to learn the old-fashioned way,” Bucky says, but he guesses it can’t hurt for emergencies.

The hut is small and neat, but the lack of door makes him anxious.

“I assure you, Mr. Barnes, you’re safe here,” King T’Challa says, serious and confident.

And he’s probably right, it’s just…going to take some getting used to.

**

(Bucky doesn’t sleep the first night, constantly watching the door.)

**

Bucky compares every place he sees to Brooklyn. At this point, he figures it was a fault or a bug in his programming, the awareness in the back of his mind noting the difference in architecture from New York to St. Petersburg to Hong Kong to Mexico City.

He’s seen so many places under the worst circumstances. So being here, Wakanda, so different from concrete streets and buildings taller than trees, is...

He shuts his eyes and breathes.

**

It takes some time to get used to operating his body without the arm. Sometimes he loses balance and stumbles. Princess Shuri asks him early in his first week if he’s interested in a temporary arm, but he needs the empty space to remind him of who he is, where he is.

**

Bucky has picked up languages over the decade. An inevitability of his globe-trotting. He knows _stop, help, please_ in too many languages, and basic phrases in a few.

He doesn’t know a damn thing about Wakanda's languages; learning the one is difficult.

Xhosa is unlike anything he’s heard before, involving clicks. He likes it solely for the amount of brain power it requires for him to find patterns and to learn it; it distracts him from the poison still occupying his neuropathies. 

Princess Shuri notices him on day five concentrating on a conversation between two of the king’s guards speaking Xhosa. 

“Would you like to be taught properly?” she asks him.

“What does 'properly' mean?”

“You’re American - the wooden desk with what you call a chalkboard? A teacher?”

Right. Textbooks. Phrases on the chalkboard, repeating them back to the teacher. Conjugating verbs. Bucky doesn’t remember any of his teachers, the realization hard and sharp.

“Maybe,” he says.

**

The next day, two children - a boy named Thabo and a girl named Zani - come into Bucky’s hut first thing in the morning and say two words in English: Xhosa and lesson.

When he inquires further, they speak Xhosa and disappear. With a shake of his head, he leaves his hut to walk to his closest neighbor - a family of three generations of women who tend to goats and dye clothing. 

It’s silly to say, he knows, but he falls in love with the work immediately. All of it. The repetitive nature of the steps, the way his mind is blissfully blank as his body goes through the motions. He likes feeding the goats and petting them. 

And then when he’s physically tired and his mind starts working again, he’s taught by Thabo and Zani, supervised by their parents. They all carry weapons.

After the second day, the children, who are probably around eight (he’s never been great at gaging children’s ages) argue. Thabo gestures to his left arm and shakes his head, which makes Bucky smile fondly. 

Bucky suddenly has a spear between his eyes and he doesn’t remember how he ends up with the spear in his hand, pointed back at Thabo’s mother, but he drops it as if it’s on fire and drops to his knees, repeating _I’m sorry, I’m sorry_ in Xhosa. He made sure to learn that phrase first. 

His forehead is pressed against the dirt and he wouldn’t mind, really, if this is where he was killed. 

Eventually there’s a sharp tap against the top of his head, urging him to look up. 

Thabo is staring at him with wide eyes. His mother says something in Xhosa to Thabo and he nods once. She turns to Bucky and says in English, “you are dangerous.”

Bucky opens his mouth to agree, but he finds himself saying, “I don’t want to be.”

He doesn’t know if they trust that, or they really just love the royal family to the point that they trust their judgment completely, but the lessons continue. It takes active practice to disregard weapons pointed at him from all angles.

Zani doesn’t hesitate to snap her fingers in his face and vent her frustration when he gets a phrase wrong for the fifth time. Thabo drags him around the village by fisting his shirt and pointing at objects, announcing their names in Xhosa. They take turns grabbing his wrist and point over written words.

He would die in a heartbeat protecting them both.

Sometimes their friends would come to help them - their parents also standing guard and following them. But eventually, one by one, the parents leave them be. The last to leave - Zani’s mother - threatens to kill him if he harmed her daughter.

“ _I’d help you_ ,” he says in clunky Xhosa.

He means it. However, she wanted it to happen, his hand would assist.

Eventually, after a long pause, she nods in acknowledgment.

**

“Your vitals are stabilizing,” Princess Shuri says after the second day of being left alone with the children for lessons.

“It helps not having weapons pointed at me for two hours,” Bucky informs her, trying not to be sarcastic, but she smiles knowingly.

“What else triggers you?”

“Triggers?”

“Things that upset you suddenly, make you anxious, remind you of the terrible moments of your past. Have you noticed anything else over the last two weeks?”

He looks around the space he’s in - her lab - and lifts his hand from his lap. “This.”

She stops writing and looks around, looks down at her computer, then gathers her belongings. “Okay, let’s go.”

“We don’t have to leave.”

“Being in here is upsetting you, right?”

“That’s a strong word.”

“It’s bothering you, then. You don’t feel comfortable here.”

“No,” he admits.

“Okay, so we move. It’s a big space, we’ll find somewhere that’s suitable for both of us.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but she slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Shush. You’re lucky I let you talk as much as you do, White Man.”

He smiles against her palm.

**

So, they start holding their meetings…sessions…whatever they are, outside. Occasionally, she'll bring him into her lab to run a few tests, but when they talk, it's in view of trees and lakes and in the heat.

She wants to improve his sleep, so she has him trying different things to see if they improve the nightmares.

After a surprisingly restful sleep one morning, his wake-up call is Thabo, Zani, and Thabo's best friend T'Swintek staring at him and then running away.

When she asks him how he's feeling, he says, "good," which is the honest response.

He can't remember the last time he was 'good.'

(Although, he really needs the kids to stop calling him ‘White Wolf’ – he doesn’t know who started it, but he doesn’t really care for it.)

**

Bucky’s days blend together. He doesn't bother keeping track of week days and weekends. He doesn't know what month it is and that used to be a source of concern – all the time he's lost, seeing 1963 and blinking and it's suddenly 1977 then 1982 then 1991 –

This is a comforting, non eventful passing of time. It reminds him of summers in Brooklyn as a kid.

He thinks, maybe, he's really going to get better.

**

Fall sneaks up on Bucky.

There’s a night of low temperatures that reminds him too much of the Soviet – _RussiaRussiaRussia_ that he barely rests – bombarded with nightmares in his sleep and flashbacks when he’s awake. He watches the sunrise and is reminded of his days training.

He suddenly remembers Natalia’s red hair matching the clouds, a softer likeness than that of blood.

Wait. Natasha. That's her name now. Natasha, Natasha, Natasha. Right.

The children come, but they don’t stay long. Buck doesn’t move. He doesn’t think he will, not even if someone comes to kill him.

He hears the bleating of goats and faint laughter in the distance. A baby cries.

Dear God, he doesn’t deserve any of this.

There are a series of taps against the side of his hut at some point in the middle of the day. 

Bucky focuses his gaze and notes that it’s Thabo’s grandfather, N’Gonzeh. Bucky has met him in passing, ate dinner with the family once, but he didn’t speak much, which Bucky respected since he’s not much of a talker these days.

“My grandson is perceptive and has a good memory. He came to me and said you were behaving like I did when he was four,” N’Gonzeh says in perfect English.

(So much for the people in the village not being fluent in English.)

It occurs to Bucky that while English was his first language, he had spoken Russian for so much longer. Sometimes Russian comes first.

“I know you’re just learning about Wakanda’s history, so you might not know of various wars we’ve fought. How good warriors have come back different. Hurt in the mind.”

Bucky saw what the World Wars did to men. He saw it as a child when young men he looked up to as a boy came back as empty shells. His uncles came back angry and self-medicated with booze and opium. The soldiers he fought beside screamed at night.

“He thinks you’re suffering the same way I did. Guilt.”

Bucky blinks.

“I was killing an enemy, and accidentally killed a friend in the chaos. I knew I didn’t deserve to survive the war. That I was wasting air by continuing to live – during the rest of the war, afterwards.”

Bucky glances at N’Gonzeh, who is facing away from him.

“Sometimes I still feel that.” N’Gonzeh shuts his eyes, his brow furrowed. “It’s not something that goes away completely, but I recognize that there were very few things within my control that day. Getting jostled, my aim off and hitting my friend? Wasn't my fault. That was outside of my control. At some point, you have to accept responsibility for the things you can control - like how to live your life going forward - and let go of what you can't control."

"You make it sound so easy," Bucky says.

"It's simple in theory, but the guilt makes it difficult."

Bucky hums in agreement.

N’Gonzeh turns to fully face Bucky. "From what I understand, things _really_ weren't in your control."

"I was conscious for it. Sometimes."

"Something tells me you would've rather killed yourself than be subjected to what you had gone through."

"In a second."

Bucky jolts when N'Gonzeh places a gentle hand on top of his head. "When you're ready, you should come over for dinner."

N'Gonzeh takes his time to sit up and when he's at the doorway, Bucky questions, "accept the past?"

"Accept is...not the right word. Accept has a rather positive connotation to it, in my opinion. I would say it's more like...acknowledging. Recognizing." N'Gonzeh gives Bucky a parting smile before leaving him alone.

Bucky eventually rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. It's only a few minutes when he hears Princess Shuri's light footsteps come in.

"Your idea?" Bucky ventures.

"Actually, no. He insisted. I...didn't think it was a good idea at first. Which was wrong."

He looks over at her and he's surprised that she's staring at her feet. "Why didn't you think it was a good idea?"

She kicks a small rock forward and hunches a little. "I was afraid you would trigger him. He would trigger you. I understand that...the camaraderie can be very helpful, but..." she shrugs. Exhales. "I feel like I failed you."

He smiles softly, his heart swelling a little. "You didn't fail me."

"I did. I was arrogant thinking that I could solely help you."

"Okay," Bucky sits up and pats the free space next to him. "Sit. Time for the old man to speak."

She doesn't smile and sits down, her hands between her knees.

"I was never the smartest guy, especially when always compared to Steve, but I know that if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here. In this village, learning your language, your culture, doing honest work." The thought comes to him and he almost laughs in disbelief: "I've had nights without nightmares. Like, multiple nights in a row. Before, I never had more than one night at a time."

Her eyebrows raise, probably more so out of his confirming what she probably already suspected.

"Your people have helped me with their openness and kindness. Which wouldn't have happened if you didn't vouch for me. If you didn't rewire my brain to something that somewhat resembles what I was."

Princess Shuri looks over and him and her eyes are a little glassy.

"Basically, a long, convoluted way of saying you're doing me a hell of a lot more good than harm. And I appreciate it."

It takes a little time, but eventually she nods. "Okay," she says, her voice quiet.

"I appreciate you wanting to protect me, but I've been through some shit. I can handle it. And I'll let you know when I can't."

She nods again. "Understood Sergeant Barnes."

"It's Bucky," he corrects her for what must be a millionth time.

"Okay, I think I need to spell this one out for you since, as you said, you're not the smartest guy," she says, sounding more like herself. "You are older than me by a significant amount. We respect our elders in Wakanda. That's why I call you by your title."

"I get that, I do, but...look. I haven't been a Sergeant in decades. And really, calling me Bucky - _just_ Bucky - would be respectful of my wishes. That's who I am. Just plain, ol' Bucky."

"Mr. Bucky."

He snorts. "No. Please don't."

She laughs. "Bucky."

"There you go. Less of a mouthful."

"Everyone else will start calling you the Xhosa equivalent of mister or sir soon enough," she warns him.

"Why?"

"Because they're beginning to respect you as part of the community. You'll see."

**

Bucky would think it was just Princess Shuri pulling an elaborate joke on him, convincing everyone to address him differently, but he knows these people don't follow the whims of royals, even royals as respected as Princess Shuri's family.

It starts with the adults - Zani's mother, the family he works with. Then the children start copying their parents. He's invited to sit in on village councils where discussions are held on how to improve the community. He only stays halfway through - the children are too excited by what Bucky thinks are some exotic form of lightning bugs, so he leads them away so the adults can continue.

"Mr. Bucky?" Thabo asks.

Bucky blinks. On his index finger, a lightning bug is resting on the tip, lighting up blue. 

"Yeah?"

"Why do you not want your other arm?"

Bucky looks down at the empty space.

"I know Princess Shuri asks you all the time about giving you another one,” Thabo continues. “And I know other people get metal arms and legs and hands and feet."

Bucky thinks about how to answer this without upsetting the kid. "I had a metal arm for a long time. It…represents a painful time for me."

"Maybe having a new one will help. You can get it in orange. Or green. So it doesn't look like metal."

Bucky chuckles and the lightning bug flies away. "Maybe."

It's not a bad idea.

**

He's kissed, randomly, by Thabo's older sister.

She's tipsy with a group of her friends. There's some sort of paint on her face and a woven crown on her head and she rushes over to him while he's changing the bandages of one of the goats - Rocky - and takes him by the face and kisses him.

It barely lasts a second. She pulls back and laughs and curses them in Xhosa before leaving.

Bucky runs a tongue over his bottom lip and tastes liquor and flushes.

**

__  
When was the last time he kissed someone?

He racks his brain late into the night and realizes with a certain amount of angst that stupidly makes him teary that he doesn't remember because at the time, it didn't matter. One of the many.

**

…Except that's not true, is it?

He does remember.

**

Bucky wakes up at the crack of dawn and checks on his goats. The goats. He pets the ones that are okay with him doing it. He checks the bandages of Rocky and is happy to see there's very little blood, so he removes it.

" _You're healing very well_ ," Bucky mutters in Xhosa. The older goats he speaks with solely in Xhosa. The younger ones - the ones just born - he speaks with them in Xhosa and English.

He hears footsteps coming toward him and he blinks in surprise at Thabo's sister.

Her face is clean of paint and her eyes are red from a poor night's sleep. She gives him a sheepish smile. "Hello," she says in English.

"Hi."

She takes a breath, her shoulders straight. "I'm sorry about last night. It was inappropriate. It was part of a game that women play before they are to be married."

He tries to smile. "In the US, so I'm told, it’s called a bachelorette party."

"Some things I guess can be universal."

He gives her a proper smile. "Congratulations. I didn't know you were betrothed."

"Really?" she questions, clearly surprised. "It's supposed to be the biggest event of the fall."

"Still learning the language. I also don't tend to follow the social aspects of what happens anymore."

She smiles. "I find it hard to believe."

"Many years ago, definitely. Now I'm just trying to function normally."

"You seem to be doing well. Much better than when you first came here," she tells him.

"Well, that's a relief." He scratches behind Rocky's ear. "Pardon if this is forward, but...why me?"

She raises an eyebrow. "You're not blind to your looks."

He laughs a little bitterly. "I don't really see much of it anymore. Or maybe it doesn't matter as much as it did."

"Well, trust me. It's there. As much as a white man can have, at any rate."

"Well...thank you. I think," he answers slowly, trying to process the backhanded compliment.

" I should go. Have a good day."

"You too."

He smiles to himself for the rest of the morning.

**

"Are you sure you don't want to see it?" Princess Shuri asks slyly. "It's really cool."

"I'm alright, really, but thank you."

"I really put in a lot of effort."

"That was of your own volition. I didn't ask for another arm. In fact, I distinctly remember telling you I didn't want one," Bucky counters.

"It's really sleek."

He sighs. "How long are we going to argue until you drop it?"

"Forever."

He shuts his eyes and rubs them with his hand. "Okay, fine, I'll _look_ at it."

"Of course!"

She whips up a case from behind her and he's left wondering how the hell she was able to hide it with her small body when she opens it and – oh. Wow.

He stares at it.

"Right? Beautiful. It's made from vibranium, of course – which makes up the Black Panther suit and your buddy Captain America's shield, although that's been mixed with a steel alloy, which I think personally weakens it, but hey, apparently it's part of white culture."

She delves into the mechanics – how it's lighter, more flexible. Given its ability to absorb vibrations and it being concentrated on one small section of his body, it would be best to start training with it to get used to it, to see if maybe more work needs to be done.

"Such as…?" Bucky trails off expectantly.

"A more permanent means of attachment, really," she tells him. "So more of your body can support it. That's another reason why I would like, when you're ready, to train with it. I don't want to find out you have a limit when your left rib cage is crushed to dust."

He nods. It makes sense, but…

"Okay," he says. "I'll let you know when."

She shuts the case. "Okay." She smiles at him.

"It's very nice," he tells her, which really makes her smile.

He means it, but not for how sleek and nice it looks or how much more powerful it'll be – it's nice because she built it with care, with him in mind. And that hasn't happened since his mom knitted him his last hat when he was sixteen.

**

Bucky is invited to the wedding ceremony the morning of – he's invited while doing sit ups outside and he’s told to wash up and get dressed in his best clothes. He only has a couple of outfits, so he just picks his cleanest one and sits in the back, almost understanding most of the ceremony. The couple looks beautiful and they seem in love. Bucky’s heart twists a little at that. He was nervous – before everything – to settle down. Mostly because his parents' marriage never seemed right to him, but the war got to him before Bucky could see what his dad was before, what both his parents were before.

He goes to clap when the ceremony is over until he remembers that he only has one hand, so he slaps his hand against his thigh instead. Kids who notice him – easy to do when he's the only person with white skin for hundreds of miles – come over to him excitedly, explaining to him the ceremony in that easy, understandable way that children have a gift of doing, which is good because his Xhosa is okay at this point, but far from what he needs to be able to hold meaningful conversations with adults.

There's a lot of food and alcohol for the reception. The kids make him a plate of food, but he doesn't touch the alcohol. He remembers Steve mentioning that he wouldn't be able to get drunk anyway with their metabolisms being the way they are. Even so, he just…doesn't want to risk it. Although he misses it, sometimes.

He just loads up on something that's like a doughnut except the tasty dipping sauces make it even better.

Zani takes his hand and tries to get him to dance. It's awkward, like he's trying to put on shoes that don't fit anymore. He used to be a great dancer, now it's like his brain isn't connected to his body when it comes to harmless activities.

"I'm going to need more practice," Bucky tells her when she giggles. "I used to be very good."

"I'm sure, Mr. Barnes."

"You can still call me Bucky. It's okay."

She narrows her eyes at him. "But it's disrespectful."

"I know. I was told. And I respect that. It's…how about a…" He doesn't know the Xhosa word for 'compromise.' "You can call me Mr. Bucky?"

"Mr. Bucky," she tries out.

"Does that work?"

She thinks about it for a moment. "I think so, yes."

"Good. Can you tell all your friends to do the same?"

She nods. "When you were a child, were you so –" she uses a word he doesn't understand, "- with adults?"

He repeats the word she used and asks her what it means.

"It means…" She tries to think of a word he may already know. "Familiar. Comfortable."

 _Casual_ , he thinks she means. "No, but…I don't think I really deserve the full respect."

"You don't think so, but others do. You're outnumbered, Mr. Bucky. But I will only call you that to your face since you insist."

He laughs a little. "Okay. That's fair." He looks over her and sees her friends dancing in a circle. "You should go with your friends – they are more fun than I am."

"You are very negative, Mr. Bucky. But I'll go."

He watches her jump onto Thabo and he bites back a smile as he observes the rest of the crowd. Bucky doesn't know if it's rude to leave the festivities, but there doesn't seem to be any sign of stopping.

"You're indoctrinating our children to go against our belief systems," he hears in English behind him.

He flinches a little, even though he knows it's Zani's mother.

"It's selfish of me, I know," he admits. "I'm sorry."

She walks over so she's standing by his side. "It's admirable you take the respect so seriously."

"There's nothing admirable in knowing that you're not worth honoring."

"Really?"

"I've done awful things."

"From what I was told by Princess Shuri, that was outside of your control. We wouldn't have agreed to house you or have our children near you if we weren't reassured this. Besides, I don't think a mad assassin would find so much enjoyment with tending to goats."

He looks at her and she's already smiling at him.

"I'm dangerous," he says quietly.

"You're more so a danger to yourself than to others," she points out. "From the months you've spent here, the only harm I've seen you commit is to yourself." She puts a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good man."

He smiles a little. "I want to be good."

"Well, you're managing fine." She looks around to make sure no one is listening in. "If you want to leave, I suggest waiting until my husband starts singing – that's when everyone will be plenty intoxicated and won't notice."

"Thank you kindly."

(He makes sure to grab a few extra doughnuts before leaving.)

**

Princess Shuri is his wake up call the next day and he's not thrilled about it.

"Wake up, sleepyhead! You're coming with me."

"Why? We don't have an appointment until _later_ in the _afternoon_." He turns on his side away from her.

She rolls him onto his back with surprising strength. "We do, _but_ , you need new clothes."

"I've been fine with my clothes."

"You need fancier clothes."

"Why…"

"Winter Solstice! We party hard and we look good doing it."

He grimaces, but follows her out of his home. He looks back at it forlornly.

"You can nap later!" She tugs at his arm, making him stumble. He opens his mouth to tell her off, but she cuts him off with, "You could've remained balanced if you took my perfect arm!"

He keeps his mouth shut.

**

Bucky doesn't know much about clothes these days and he certainly doesn't know all the names of the different clothes and fabrics used in Wakanda, so he just lets himself be measured and has Princess Shuri put up different colored fabrics to his face.

"What do you do for the Winter Solstice?" Bucky asks.

"Well, the other tribes come, we have some traditions that I'll just make you read about because you should put in the effort as a man of privilege to learn other cultures –"

Bucky looks to the space where his arm should be and then back at her.

"Okay, yes, you're disabled, fair point, _but_ , you're still a handsome white man. Anyway, then we party." She shakes her hips. "You can make some friends."

"Friends," he repeats like it's a foreign word. Which he guesses it is now.

"Yes, _friends_. You should make some friends. Develop some roots."

He bites the inside of his cheek. "Really?"

Shuri politely dismisses the staff around so it's just them.

"We're not kicking you out anytime soon," she tells him. "You can relax. You're well liked."

He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"By the people that actually interact with you on a regular basis," she amends. "But still."

He nods. "Okay. Fine. I can be social."

She smiles brightly.

**

He cannot be social.

What was he thinking.

He's not the Bucky of 1941, charming people left, right, and center, the life of the party. He's a one-armed, traumatized, broken weapon that barely constitutes a functioning person.

"So, you're the whacko white person T'Challa's family took in."

Bucky turns to see a large man facing him, smiling in amusement with a bottle of liquor in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other. His eyes are calculating as they size him up.

"Yep, that's me," Bucky says. "Name's Bucky. 'Whacko white person' seems like a bit of a mouthful."

The man grins. "What kind of name is Bucky?"

"Long story. What's yours?"

"M'Baku, leader of the Jabari tribe."

Bucky searches through his memories of Wakandan groups. "You live in the mountains."

M'Baku nods. "J'Abariland. So, you're being taught?"

"Yeah. Well, trying to learn."

"It's the least you can do. You're very fortunate. I don't agree with most of this technology, but. I know it's capable of doing good."

Bucky suddenly smiles. "I would've loved it," he sighs. "Before. I was into science-fiction."

M'Baku furrows his brow. "Science-fiction," he repeats.

"It's a genre. Of film and novels. About technology that seems fantastical. But, I miss things about the past."

"I understand. I'm partial to the old ways of living. We shouldn't forget."

Bucky looks back out at the party he's standing on the outskirts of.

"You know what might help you that's not related to technology?" M’Baku asks.

"What?"

M'Baku shoves the bottle into Bucky's chest.

"I don't –" Bucky starts, then stares down at the bottle. Well, he's assuming he's like Steve, but. Can't hurt to try it out. Screw it.

Bucky brings the bottle to his mouth and chugs.

**

So. It takes quite a number of drinks – enough to impress M'Baku who has a number of pounds and inches on him – but Bucky can get drunk.

He also can't keep his balance for shit, but M'Baku doesn't mind being a solid presence by his side. Everything seems really funny and bright and warm. Princess Shuri checks in on Bucky and he presses his forehead to hers, wanting to say something, but he just ends up laughing. She laughs too.

"You're so soft," Bucky whispers to M'Baku, petting his fur-covered shoulder.

They're sitting on the ground, their knees touching as they face each other.

"You too," M'Baku says, running a hand through his hair. "Very soft."

"Uh, what's…happening here?"

They both look up to see King T'Challa looking down at them with an amused smirk.

"He wouldn't be soft," M'Baku mutters to Bucky.

Bucky nods. "Not soft."

King T'Challa shakes his head and leaves them. 

Things start to blur from there – he definitely ends up dancing at one point. With King T'Challa's mother. And maybe King T'Challa himself. And some other people too. He remembers M'Baku lifting him up for a tight hug and demanding that they must hang out again. He's petted on the head and Princess Shuri leads him to a bedroom and Bucky falls asleep like a baby.

**

Bucky is not hungover. It seems he slept through whatever pain his body would've subjected him to, but he is hungry. Very hungry.

He steps out of his room and Princess Shuri is there with an electronic pad, quickly writing on it. "Symptoms?" she questions.

"Hungry. Starving."

"No headache?"

"No."

"And not nauseous."

"Definitely not."

"But you definitely got drunk last night."

He winces a little. "Yes."

She lifts her head and smiles. "Did you have fun?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's feed you."

He is fed very, very well. M'Baku is there and he's unresponsive to everyone, but Bucky puts more of some potato dish onto his plate, which earns him an appreciative glance.

Princess Shuri elbows Bucky later. "You made a friend. A questionable friend –"

"I like him."

She raises her eyebrows. "A good friend, then!"

He shrugs. He doesn't know about that, but M'Baku does invite him to his home, even though Bucky has to explain he's not ready for so much snow yet – this current climate is helpful since he associates freezing temperatures with a lot of his shit. M’Baku nods understandingly and says, "We'll bundle you up well."

Bucky laughs out loud. "Maybe in a couple of months."

"Okay, you do that, White Wolf."

Bucky quirks his head to the side, feeling himself flush and the bottom of his stomach falling. "What?"

"It's good, right? Got it from some of the kids. It’ll stick."

Bucky grimaces. He doesn't want it to, but it will, judging by the way King T'Challa and Princess Shuri react to the name. Shit.

"It's flattering," M'Baku adds.

I'd rather not be seen as a predator, given everything."

M'Baku narrows his eyes. "A wolf is a predator, yes, but it is also a protector, part of a pack. You clearly care about people in your community. You would defend them to the death, right?"

Bucky wets his bottom lip and nods.

"White Wolf," M'Baku confirms.

"It’s bad enough some of the kids call me that, I don’t need adults doing it."

M'Baku smiles and it's an evil one. "Come visit me in the spring."

"My birthday is in March."

"March," M'Baku repeats. "I'll ask the annoying, little one about it.” Princess Shuri gasps, offended. “How old are you?" M’Baku asks Bucky.

"Fuck," Bucky blurts out.

M’Baku raises an eyebrow.

"Sorry – uh, I mean, I'll be…a hundred and one?"

M'Baku blinks a few times. "Old man." He nods. "Okay, we'll celebrate accordingly."

That is not what Bucky wanted M'Baku to take out of that, but he seems to be a stubborn man, so he'll just have to contend with it a while from now.

When M'Baku leaves, Princess Shuri says in a sing-song tone, "You made a friend."

"Oy vey," Bucky sighs, when he then has to explain to Princess Shuri, who has never heard the expression before. Overall, he'd say the day was a miserable mess, but he did get food to go and he does get a nap in, so he guesses in the end, he's the real winner.

**

A couple of days later, Bucky is feeding a baby goat milk since her mother unfortunately died in childbirth. She was the runt of the litter, so she requires a little extra care. He named her Becca because she has her eyes.

"Wow, this is quite the sight."

He tenses in surprise.

"Sorry, old habits, you know?"

He cranes his head to look at Natasha. The short blonde hair is a shock to his system. Her casual clothing is also unfamiliar – he's too used to seeing her in the Black Widow training uniform, dressed to the nines, or, well. 

"Hi," he says, clearly his throat. "Is Steve okay?"

"Oh, yeah, he's fine. He's handling something north of the border. He'll be here in a day or so."

"Why?"

She furrows her brow. "Because it's Christmas tomorrow."

If he weren't already sitting, he would've fallen to the ground in shock. "It is?" The question sounds stupid once it leaves his mouth. Obviously, if the Winter Solstice had just happened, it only makes sense for Christmas to be around the corner.

She smiles a little. "Are you losing track of time here?"

"Yeah, I really am," he says, bewildered and embarrassed. "Wow."

She gracefully sits next to him. "Don't worry, I wasn't expecting a gift," she jokes.

"I better not get any."

"Hard to buy things when you're on the run."

He winces.

"Hey, it's not your fault. You know Steve – the Accords go against everything you guys fought for, even if Tony wasn't involved."

Becca bleats and he focuses on feeding her again. "Sorry," he says to her, bringing her body closer to his.

"Who's this?"

"Becca. She was the runt of the litter. Requires a little more care."

"Can I?" Natasha asks, lifting her hand slowly. 

"Yeah, go ahead."

Natasha reaches over to lightly pet her head, scratch behind her ears. She smiles warmly.

"How's it going?" she asks softly.

"It's great. It's…more than I deserve, really. Everyone here has been…warm and welcoming."

"I think if anyone deserves some peace it's you."

"You too."

He chances a glance at her and she's taken aback, but she schools her face so it's blank. He smiles.

"We'll see." It's vague, but it's also a firm end to that particular conversation.

Becca is done feeding and is squirming in his hold, so carefully lifts her off of his lap and onto her legs. " _Go on now_ ," he says in Xhosa.

"You're picking up the language."

"I'm trying, at any rate. I'm being taught by the local children."

Her eyebrows raise in amusement. "I'm sure there are great stories."

"Mr. Bucky!"

"Speak of the devil," he mutters as he gets to his feet slowly. Natasha is standing in a blink of an eye. 

It's Zani and Thabo running toward him with Steve trailing behind them. Steve is already grinning.

" _We brought your friend, Mr. America_ ," Thabo says in between breaths.

Bucky laughs a little. " _Thank you, Thabo. You can call him Mr. Rogers. That's his real name._ "

"Mr. Rogers? Are you telling him to call me that?" Steve asks.

"Because that's what they do here. It's a sign of respect."

"What about you? 'Mr. Bucky'?"

"I had to beg for that compromise." Bucky turns to Thabo and Zani. " _Right? I had to beg for you to call me Mr. Bucky?_ "

" _It's true_ ," Zani says, nodding for Steve's benefit.

"I'm impressed – you're fluent already?" Steve asks Bucky.

Bucky shrugs with one shoulder. "Passable."

They fall into a somewhat awkward silence. The children look between the adults expectantly. Bucky exhales.

"How about a tour?" Bucky suggests.

**

Bucky takes them around, acting as a tour guide for the village. The children pipe in with suggestions on what to show Steve and Natasha, and Bucky does his best in translating quickly.

Bucky has always felt mixed emotions when it came to Steve these days. The way Steve looks at him, the way he seems desperate to just see his ol' buddy Bucky, ignoring that he is – was – the Winter Soldier. It’s sometimes grating and yet…nice. To be reminded that he's human.

But as they make their way through the village, Steve starts looking at Bucky in a way that almost hurts, even though, if Bucky is being honest with himself, is true.

He's staring at him like he doesn't know him.

**

Bucky escorts Natasha and Steve back to the palace where they're staying. They eat dinner with the royal family and Princess Shuri updates Steve and Natasha about Bucky's progress. She, thankfully, gives enough information to satisfy Steve, but holds back on other things.

Natasha watches everything with a calculated gaze as she carefully eats her dinner. King T'Challa's mother eyes her warily and rightly so.

" _You're rusty_ ," Bucky finds himself saying to Natalia – not in English, not in Xhosa, but in Russian.

Everyone freezes. Natalia stares down at him.

" _You look like you're collecting information for a mission._ "

" _Sorry, Soldier,_ " she responds in turn. The corner of her mouth twitches. " _You're scaring him. Best to switch back._ "

She turns to smile at Steve reassuringly. "He was making fun of me," she explains to him.

Bucky glances at Steve and yeah, he's scared out of his wits. He's doing his best to hide it by returning Natasha's smile.

Princess Shuri, however, looks _pissed._

"Excuse me, when were you going to tell me you were still fluent in Russian?" she demands.

"Didn't seem important," Bucky blatantly lies, which she doesn't appreciate.

"Here I was, naturally assuming that by removing your trigger that your knowledge of Russian was therefore removed, or at least you would be incapable of accessing whatever was stored in your brain." She tsk-tsks and shakes her head. "I'm disappointed. Now I have to test you tomorrow."

"I have plans," he says at once.

"You do not have plans."

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

He grimaces and she sticks her tongue out.

"Shuri," King T'Challa says in a weary tone.

"He's lying. He only plans on petting goats and using blue dye tomorrow."

"Green, nice try," Bucky snorts.

"My little spies are terrible."

"I think they're developing a new loyalty," Natasha suggests with a quick smile to Bucky, who returns it.

Bucky's eyes move to Steve, who is finally starting to relax a little. "Not surprising," Steve says with a sly smile.

The kids on the block. "Nasty Mr. Miller never did find out which of us broke his kitchen window twice."

Steve blinks hard. Bucky's surprised he remembers that at all, how easily it came to him in the moment. But yeah, the neighborhood kids were disruptive and whenever they played stickball in the street, a car would get dented, a window would crack or break, they'd laugh every time because they’d never give each other up.

"We are taking care of him," King T'Challa states in that calm, reassuring way of his.

Bucky nods and goes back to his food.

**

Okoye escorts him back to his place alone, which is a change since she likes to have at least half a dozen soldiers with her when it comes to him.

She either plans to kill him and possibly make it look like an accident, or she plans on talking to him. He'd rather the former.

"I don't trust you," she tells him.

He exhales. "Okay."

"You may have charmed some of my people, but you haven't charmed me."

"…Good?" he says as a half-joke.

She shoots him a death glare. He clears his throat.

"Like I said."

The rest of the walk is silent and Bucky is grateful to wave her goodbye.

**

Steve comes alone in the morning. He tells Bucky that Sam is usually with them, but he heard about a scuffle in Afghanistan and was heading over there. There's no love lost between them, so it's probably for the best.

Barton and Lang are under house arrest, according to rumors. Wanda and Vision are gone. Rhodey appears to be on the mend since he's been back in his suit starting the beginning of this year, at least some adapted version of it that supports his legs.

"What about the kid?" Bucky asks once Steve drinks from his cup of water.

"Kid?"

"In the red and blue suit. With the webs. He stopped my punch."

Steve stares at him with raised eyebrows. "He did?"

"He said my metal arm was 'awesome.'"

Steve laughs a little in disbelief. "Uh, I assume he's back in Queens."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Queens? Really?"

"Yeah."

"How did he get involved?"

"Tony had been teasing me about him for a while."

Bucky doesn't know why Steve is so lax about this, but it's not as if they all have stellar records for good judgment, so he lets it go. 

In the meantime, Steve, Natasha, and Sam have been doing what they do best – saving people, avoiding all forms of police and government agencies. Some countries, while they have signed the Accords, aren't the best of enforcers and tend to let them…do what they have to do.

It's hypocrisy at its finest and honestly, if Bucky’s past wasn't involved in that fight, he would’ve had a hard time figuring which side of the issue he’d be on; the struggle for having always wanted to fight for the greater good versus his own selfish thoughts and feelings on what he’s capable of, how he needs to be put on a leash.

And now, today, it's Christmas.

"I don't remember much," Bucky admits because sometimes it's good to rip off a bandage.

Steve frowns and then exhales, straightens himself. "Well, let me remind you."

Apparently, their mornings were spent with their respective families. Steve shares what Bucky had told him in the past – his sister always subdued with her reactions when opening gifts, but Bucky could always tell when she genuinely loved something. His mom usually made pancakes and, in hindsight, was ahead of her time adding bits of chocolate into the mix years before chocolate chip cookies were sold in stores and chocolate chips were sold separately. 

Music playing on the record player. 

(That was another thing – the songs haven't changed much from the 1940s. So even when Bucky was taken off ice, sent on missions – if it were during the holidays, sometimes it doesn't feel like time moved at all.)

Bucky would come over to Steve's house since the one-time Steve came over to his, he caught the flu and was bed-ridden for two weeks. So, Bucky always came over. He would dance with Steve’s mom. They'd listen to the radio.

Bucky thinks he remembers some of it – certain things. The smell of ham, the feel of Steve's worn couch, the sight of Becca grinning. Passing things.

"Although, I have to say – I do rather like this climate," Steve says at one point.

"I like it too. I never liked winter."

Steve suddenly grins. "I think it had something to do with girls being covered up."

Bucky's own laugh takes him by surprise. "Sounds about right," he admits.

Steve opens his mouth and Bucky knows where his mind is going. 

"No."

Steve gives him a _really? You're sure there’s no one?_ look, which Bucky responds with a _yes, I'm sure, now shut it_ look. 

"Okay," Steve sighs. 

"Any new super-people?" Bucky asks to change the topic.

"Yep – one who calls himself 'Doctor Strange.' I think Strange is actually his last name, believe it or not. He's…well. There's some magic involved, apparently. He's from New York too."

"We sure know how to make 'em."

Steve nods and smiles.

Bucky looks out his window and furrows his brow. "Where's Natal-Natasha?"

"What were you going to call her?" Steve asks at once.

Bucky swallows over the sudden lump in his throat. "Natalia. That's her real name."

"You knew each other," Steve surmises.

"No. Well…sort of. I don't…it's fragmented. What I remember. Her too, maybe. They…did things to everyone."

"Wait a minute – you guys were both trained by the same people?"

"No," Bucky states with confidence he didn't realize he had until the answer was already there. "I trained her."

Steve's eyes bug out of his head. " _What_?"

Bucky shuts his eyes, trying to sift through his shards of memories. He goes by her red hair – she's younger, maybe eighteen, maybe a little older. He taught her things. Moves, tricks. They have the same gun preferences.

(She prefers the smell of jasmine and hates the consistency of blueberries and she squeals when he touches the soft skin of her stomach.)

When Bucky opens his eyes, Steve looks concerned.

By the time Natasha comes by, she takes one look at Steve, then at Bucky, and puts her hands on her hips. "You told him," she surmises.

"I'm surprised you didn't," Bucky counters.

"You told me he was like the boogeyman," Steve says to Natasha half-accusingly.

"He was," she says with a shrug. "Until he wasn't. It's…" She looks at Bucky.

He gets it. It's confusing and certainly not linear by any means.

" _The Red Room_ ," Bucky starts in Russian and repeats himself in English. "They…messed with our minds. It helped keep us efficient."

"I remember your accent. It changed once. It sounded harsh," she says suddenly, the memory coming quickly.

"Can't shake that Brooklyn accent," Bucky says with a huff of laughter. 

There are things she wants to say, he thinks, but not with Steve here. Steve's heart is breaking in front of them and that's not what Christmas is supposed to be about. So, they move on to more pleasant things. They play music from Steve's phone and Bucky is exposed to new Christmas music. He likes Frank Sinatra – he vaguely remembers girls gushing about him before leaving for Europe, but now he understands the appeal.

There aren't any decorations or trees and the rest of the village doesn't celebrate it, but Bucky explains to Thabo's family that it's a tradition where they're from. And if there's one thing Bucky knows about Thabo's family is that they will take up any excuse to celebrate, so they celebrate 'the white people's holiday.' 

"Someone dying for your sins? Hah!" N'Gonzeh snorts as Bucky and Steve explain the story of Jesus Christ, whom Natasha is happy to explain could not have been white.

Natasha snorts.

"You weren't Russian Orthodox?" Bucky asks her in passing.

" _Evreyskiy_ ," she responds.

Jewish. He doesn't bother asking any other questions – the fact that she somehow remembered _that_ particular piece of her past only speaks to her mental strength. 

"I think we were together one Christmas," she says quietly while Steve is distracted.

"A mission?"

"Your American accent was particularly impressive to me." She shakes her head a little. 

Bucky doesn't remember. 

"I'm sorry my memory is shot," he says. "But I remember…uh," he stops himself short, feeling his cheeks flush.

Her eyebrows raise and she grins. " _I'd tease, but I'm too relieved_ ," she says in Russian.

He shuts his eyes. " _We were compromised?_ "

" _We planned to run away._ "

He opens his eyes and he's surprised by the tears that sting them. He doesn’t remember that, but it sounds right. Once he has a handle on his emotions, he looks over to Natalia. Her face is calm, but her hands are fisted by her sides.

"Maybe we could…" he starts, trails off. Talk about it. Compare memories. Fill in the blanks for each other.

"Another time?" she suggests.

His gift to her. "Yeah."

She places a light hand on his arm and weaves her way through the crowd.

M'Baku stumbles up beside him and drapes a large arm around his shoulders. "Youuu…" he trails off.

"Don't,” Bucky interrupts him.

"Come on."

" _No._ I can tell you later."

"I expect a lot of details."

"Too bad I barely remember any. Broken brain, remember?"

M'Baku shakes his head. "Sad, sad man."

(It's maybe a little bit of a white lie, but it's hard to explain the context of his memories, especially in a language that isn't Russian or English.)

**

Eventually, it’s time for them to leave. Steve says he’ll come by in a few months. It’ll most likely be unannounced, but he’ll try his best to give word since he knows he’s living his life.

“I mean...I’m not...I’m doing the same things every day, it’s not like I’m King T’Challa or anything,” Bucky says.

“Yeah, but, it’s your life. Your routine. It’s just common courtesy, yeah?”

Steve brings Bucky into a tight hug. Bucky feels lost in him - he never really got over the change in size - it’s probably what Steve used to feel like growing up. Plus, there’s also the fact that Steve is such a symbol of strength at this point that it’s overwhelming in general.

Natasha is gentler with her hug, but it overwhelms him too. It’s the first time in a long time that he wishes he had two flesh arms.

“ _I’ll see you soon_ ,” she says quietly in Russian.

“ _Da_.”

She pulls back and smiles.

**

Bucky’s life quickly resumes back to his routine, as Steve aptly called it.

He has more nightmares than usual, but he’s chalking it up to the weather. He tries to do mindfulness meditation more frequently, but he doesn’t think he’s very good at it.

Princess Shuri tests him on languages - every country, territory, region he was ever sent to, based on recovered HYDRA records, maybe - Bucky doesn’t know how she was able to access that information.

He remembers a good amount. Some of them are easy to recall (Russian, Ukranian, Spanish, French, Italian, German, Japanese), some of them he doesn’t think he does, but then she plays a simple recording of the language (Mandarin, Swedish, Bengali, Portuguese). 

Some languages upset him. French, in particular.

“That was a bad mission,” he states shortly. He doesn’t want to get into it.

Those early missions - early, early, just after the war ended. A good number of them were revenge-based, he’s sure. It makes him sick to his stomach to think what he was used for. 

N’Gonzeh and Bucky hang out sometimes. And sometimes N’Gonzeh’s friends join them. Sometimes other people come - also soldiers. An unplanned support group. Bucky thinks he’s there as a - _well, at least you’re not like him, he had it real bad_ \- kind of reassurance. It’s alright though. Sometimes he even feels like he’s not alone in the world when it comes to his shit.

Natasha’s visit takes Bucky by surprise. She’s alone and it’s still chilly at night. She comes bearing gifts - Tula pryanik filled with sweetened condensed milk, which makes him laugh since he remembers, suddenly, arguing with her about it before a mission. She always preferred the one with jam, claiming the milk was too sweet.

And a bar of Alenka chocolate, which is jarring to see how little the label has changed, like she reached into the past and took it to the present.

“How are you doing?” he asks her, unwrapping the chocolate and offering it to her.

She breaks the bar in half, breaks a smaller part off her half to pop in her mouth. “Fine. I don’t mind being on the run so much - it’s familiar to me. Sam and Steve struggle more.”

He nods, twirling his half piece in his hand. 

She places her chocolate on her lap and takes his, breaking into small enough pieces. He smiles gratefully at her.

“I remember the first day I met you. Or, well, I remember in my first memory of you, I observed that you used to smile a lot.” She reaches out and gently touches the corner of his eye. “Laugh lines.”

“I’m surprised we got away with as much as we did,” he admits.

“Because they didn’t think us capable still.” The corner of her mouth quirks up. “And your Russian is very good.”

“I tried to ruin my English. Not have it...seem natural.”

“I remember that.”

He blinks at her a few times. “They come back, right? The memories.”

“Sometimes. Bits and pieces. Or full, complete ones, like they just happened last week as opposed to ten years ago.”

“Haven’t had that yet.”

Natasha’s green eyes are steady and piercing. The memories aren’t specific, but he knows he’s stared into them many, many times before.

He hopes that more complete ones do come back – he wants contexts for certain things – but he’s also so afraid to know more of what he’s done. Maybe it’s for the best that he has what he has.

**

So.

Bucky hasn't woken up with an erection in seventy years. 

He wakes up with one on a random morning and he…stares at it in total disbelief until it goes away.

**

He doesn't want to tell Princess Shuri. He really, _really_ doesn't want to tell her. It's inappropriate. He knows it's 2018 and it's a different time from the 1940s, but. He's not comfortable. At all. The thought of tell her his very embarrassing and makes him consider drowning himself in a nearby lake.

But Princess Shuri is perceptive and knows his hiding something. Despite being a highly trained killer and was built to withstand torture, he cracks almost immediately.

He thought she'd laugh, but instead her eyes widen and she says, " _Really,_ " with a little too much interest.

"Yes," he confirms shortly.

"This is good, this is really good," she says, jumping to her feet out of excitement.

"How is this good?"

"It means your body is slowly working its way back to its regularly scheduled programming!"

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning your body is behaving like a regular twenty-something year old male body does. Men wake up with erections – it's a healthy, physical act. It's an indicator that you're getting better!"

He's a little skeptical about that, but she seems so sure and she knows more than him. Besides, he _guesses_ , well. Yeah, maybe. It used to happen Before, so. He'll take her word for it. And if it does mean he's getting better? Then that's…good?

"Now, did you masturbate?"

He stands up and leaves her. Well, he runs very quickly away, as quickly as he can with only one arm to keep him balanced.

**

The second time it happens, it’s not random at all.

It’s caused by a very specific memory of a night in Argentina – maybe the sixties? He doesn’t remember the year. He remembers Natalia, her skin salty from the ocean, her hair fanning against the pillow, her legs wrapped around his shoulders –

He shouldn’t have eaten that pear the night before. It reminded him of something that he couldn’t put his finger on and then that night, he was painfully reminded.

When he’s thought about it while fully conscious, he figured his erections will just go away on its own. He doesn’t feel the need to get off the way he did before. Now, though, he’s barely awake and it’s second nature –his right arm reaching down, fingers curling around himself, and it should be like riding bike, but –

The awkwardness of not having done this in so long causes him to soften enough that he lets go, waits for it to leave completely.

Bucky huffs more than sighs.

One day, maybe.

**

One day, Princess Shuri talks about having a birthday celebration for him, but it seems like M’Baku was able to sense this and sent a messenger to essentially claim that he’s doing it and taking Bucky to his lands, so they can suck it up and come, or stay home.

“Mr. Popular,” Princess Shuri snorts. “If they want to pay for your party, then so be it.”

Bucky is prepared to travel to Jabari Land and be the center of attention there, but he’s very much not prepared two days before he’s expected to leave when he’s dragged away from hanging newly dyed clothes to dry in order to find the village has set up a party for him. He’s attended a couple over the last few months – at least when he’s specifically invited and encouraged to go – but he didn’t think they’d do this for him.

And Bucky doesn’t know how the hell they were able to figure out how to make a cake, but they did. He’s grateful that they didn’t try to fit over a hundred candles on it, but having his age spelled out with three candles – one, zero, one – in the middle is discomforting.

“You’re very old,” Zani says after Bucky blows the candles out.

“I know, strange, isn’t it?”

“Not as strange as this,” she says as she looks at her slice, tentatively poking the spongy part with a finger and grimacing.

“It’s gross,” Princess Shuri says, popping up from behind Bucky and nearly giving him a heart attack.

“I’m a traumatized war veteran and you’re sneaking up on me,” Bucky groans.

“You must keep your skills sharp.”

He shakes his head and takes a bite, the taste so surprising that he almost chokes on it.

“Totally nailed it,” Princess Shuri cackles victoriously.

“How did you know to make it like this?” he asks hoarsely. “From poking around in my brain?”

“That would be cool, but no. I just asked Captain America.”

Zani nibbles on it with a thoughtful expression on her face before it turns into a grimace. “It’s…okay.”

“When I was your age, food could get pretty scarce, so we had to make do without certain things sometimes. Like eggs. So, this cake doesn’t have eggs in it,” Bucky explains.

Princess Shuri has grabbed her own slice and eats it with not as bad of a grimace, but says, “This doesn’t taste nearly as good without eggs.”

“I know,” he admits. “But this was the best we could do, and it was made out of love, so, it was the best,” he says, eating another forkful.

Princess Shuri pats Bucky’s back. 

The cake isn’t really eaten by anyone else behind some curious individuals, but people have made other things too, things that he’s come to love over time. His favorites. And those taste just as good.

The most surprising part of the day is when Oyoke comes to sit next to him with a slice of cake.

“White people have no taste,” she says after she takes a few bites in silence.

“Did the Great Depression affect Wakanda like the rest of the world?” he asks out of curiosity.

“No.”

He takes a chance to look at her. She’s a pillar of strength that’s very intimidating. 

“That was your own doing. White people cause pain and suffering to everyone, including their own,” she continues.

He nods and looks up at the sky, which is now an array of pinks and purples and blues from the setting sun.

“They’re all calling you White Wolf,” she states.

“You can thank the children for that one.”

“Princess Shuri,” she corrects him. “You’re coded as White Wolf in her lab.”

He groans and brings his hand to his face. Of course she is – always mischievous. When he lifts his head, he could’ve sworn there was some amusement in Oyoke’s face.

“Thank you for coming,” he says.

“Reke was making hertzoggies.”

He grins. Those are his favorite too.

**

Traveling to M’Baku’s home doesn’t take long. Princess Shuri complains how when they were on the run, they had to walk and _that_ took time –

“Wait, when were you on the run?” Bucky asks, confused.

“Oh, a little over a year ago – you were still in cryostasis,” she answers with a dismissive wave.

He furrows his brow. “…Why?”

The royal family share looks. 

“It’s a long story,” King T’Challa finally says after a few moments.

“You mean you left me alone in a lab unattended while you were on the run?” Bucky asks, confusion overwhelmingly winning out on probable angry disbelief. 

“You were very well hidden,” Princess Shuri says reassuringly.

Bucky is baffled by this, but if they don’t want to share with him why they were on the run, maybe M’Baku will after a few drinks.

**

Bucky thinks that Princess Shuri downplayed how cold it gets in the mountains – there is snow and the chill is bone-deep. He feels his heart race and he needs to focus on his breathing, not getting lost when his exhales are visible in front of him, to recount what his senses are actually experiencing in the moment.

“What are you muttering?” Princess Shuri asks.

Five things he sees, four things he can touch, three things he can hear, two things he can smell, one thing he can taste. He repeats the list with some deviances in different languages. He just avoids Russian.

Princess Shuri grips Bucky’s hand tightly.

**

“You made it, good,” M’Baku says, bringing Bucky into a tight hug. Bucky catches a glimpse of M’Baku’s people, who seem either bemused or amused.

“The cold isn’t good for him,” Princess Shuri retorts. “And yet you insisted on having him come here.”

“He made it, didn’t he? The worst is over. Now it won’t bother him as much,” M’Baku says to her dismissively. “Let me show you around,” he says to Bucky.

Despite the temperatures being so cold, J’Abariland’s homes and temples are carved from rock and wood, illuminated by fire. There is no vibranium, no ‘LED light bulbs,’ no technology to be seen. Absolutely none of it reminds him of being the Winter Soldier.

Instead, he’s Bucky with a new friend, now being offered some animal hide to wear around his shoulders.

“I couldn’t –“ Bucky stutters.

“Nonsense,” M’Baku says, slapping Bucky so hard on the back that he stumbles forward. “It’ll keep you warm. You look like you’ll turn into ice in five seconds.”

Well, he’s not wrong about that, so Bucky makes sure the fur is covering his arm.

**

“…and then Killmonger nearly killed T’Challa, and if it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be here,” M’Baku continues to explain with an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. His free hand is holding a large cup of something that’s very strong that already has Bucky’s head spinning a little, but that could be because he just heard that King T’Challa was nearly murdered and Wakanda was nearly taken over by his murderous cousin, which ended with a major battle that apparently took place over a week while Bucky was in a coma.

“And I didn’t even tell you the best part,” M’Baku continues gleefully. “ _I_ was offered to become the Black Panther –“

King T’Challa sighs wearily while Princess Shuri is hitting her head against the table. “You will continue to bring this up forever, won’t you.”

“Yes, of course.” Then M’Baku cackles. “And if Killmonger won and he found you in the lab? Oh boy, you would’ve been in major trouble.”

Bucky looks to Princess Shuri, who shrugs. “Probably,” she admits. “But you were hidden very well.”

Later, when he’s drinking more heavily, he points to Princess Shuri and says, “I was _out there_ – in the _open lab_ –“

“Your blinding white skin blended in,” Princess Shuri argues.

Queen Ramonda pats her daughter’s arm. “You’re not as pale now,” she says to Bucky reassuringly.

Bucky looks down at his arm and yeah, he guesses he’s a bit tanner, could be tanner if he did more direct work in the sun, but, yeah. “Thank you,” he says to her, since he figures he should say something since King T’Challa and Princess Shuri’s mother doesn’t speak directly to him very often.

“Come, White Wolf,” M’Baku calls loudly in Xhosa, wrapping a strong arm around Bucky’s neck. “Let me introduce you to my cousins. They’re more fun.”

By ‘more fun,’ M’Baku meant that they come up with ridiculous games that end with Bucky on his ass being laughed at, but he gets lifted to his feet every time.

Later, when it’s quieter and Bucky thinks the sky is beginning to lighten, he’s sitting with M’Baku on the floor, their backs against his throne.

“So,” M’Baku says with his eyes shut. He claimed earlier that he was just resting them, but this is the fifth time he’s done that in the last ten minutes. “Tell me about that woman.”

Bucky sighs. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, because I’m your friend. And remember, you’re only alive because of me, and my saving T’Challa –“

“Okay,” Bucky interrupts him. “I trained her. We were under the control of some bad people. And we…we were going to run off. Escape. But we were found out and separated. Our minds aren’t really right.”

M’Baku nods. “You loved her.”

Bucky swallows. “I think so.”

“Do you still?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admits. 

It’s complicated, is the true, short answer. The long one involves explaining how his memories come to him like firecrackers. One day, he does because he remembers Natalia finding land for them in New Zealand to stay for a while. The next, he remembers something new and horrible he did and he doesn’t know how to fit it into who he is.

Maybe it’s more honest to say that he did – that’s obvious, that he knows. Now? He can’t. It’s been too long and too much has happened. And too much is happening now. Maybe when things settle down for everyone else, after this reprieve, maybe they can really talk about it.

He drinks a little more because he’s sure that he’ll be taken away from this eventually. It’s not done yet.

**

Not much later, while everyone is sleeping, Bucky watches the sun rise. He waits for a memory to come, but his mind is blissfully blank. He smiles with his eyes wide open.

**

“Your ability to not get hungover is a medical marvel, but I’m currently very annoyed by it,” Princess Shuri grumbles when Bucky sits next to her at breakfast.

“When we get back, let’s test your arm,” he says, pouring her coffee.

Her whips her head to look at him with wide eyes before wincing, gripping her head. “ _Ouch_.”

He grimaces apologetically.

Eventually she smiles at him. “Really?”

He nods.

She beams. “Wonderful.”

“Ground rules,” he starts, but she holds up a hand in front of his mouth to shut him up.

“Later.”

He wants to reiterate that this doesn’t mean he’s keeping the arm. He will test it out, but he won’t be leaving the lab with it. Not yet. And he has some restrictions when it comes to training. He’s sure that Princess Shuri will respect that in the end, but she’ll end up groveling a lot to get him to change his mind; he’d rather skip that whole part.

He sighs and pours himself coffee.

**

M’Baku sends them home not long after that.

“We have to host him for a week, but he can get away with two days,” Princess Shuri grumbles, clutching her head.

Bucky waves goodbye with a smile. He doesn’t mind it at all. He’d rather go –

\- home.

He exhales and shakes his head with a smile.

**

“So,” Princess Shuri starts, grinning from ear to ear. “Are you ready?” She opens the case to show off his arm.

It’s as sleek and well-made as Bucky remembers. It’s been a long time since he’s had an arm to fill the empty space.

“No,” he admits. “But, gotta rip the bandage off, right?” He reaches forward, his hand steady until he grips the arm, his nerves making him rip it out of the case. “Whoa,” he says, overestimating the weight of it so he nearly hits himself in the face.

“It’s lighter than your old, garbage arm,” she points out too late.

He shoots her a look. She smiles innocently.

“Do you need to put this in?” he asks her, shaking the arm a little.

“Nope, you can do the honors.”

He looks at his shoulder, then at the arm. “Really?”

“Yes. I’m telling you – your arm was shit. This is better. More user friendly.”

He takes a breath. “Okay.”

He figures the quicker the better, so he’s not exactly perfect at aiming the arm into the shoulder dock, but some magnetic force brings it home and he feels a jolt to his system, the sensation of a limb that had fallen asleep now waking up. He unconsciously flexes his metal hand.

“Very nice, that didn’t take long,” Princess Shuri murmurs, writing into her digital pad.

The tasks she makes him do are innocuous: squeezing a ball in the palm of his hand, throwing it across the lab, push-ups, pull ups. True to her word, she doesn’t ask him to do anything violent.

“You can take the arm home if you want,” she offers when she takes his arm off. It requires a very small tool to be pressed into his shoulder at a few points at a certain angle for a certain amount of time. 

“I’m okay without it for now.”

“For now.”

He gives her a look and she grins.

He had already gotten used to have two arms and it takes half a day to orient himself again. The kids giggle when it loses his balance at one point, but he’s caught between Thabo and Zani. He only wants two arms in the moment to keep them close.

**

Bucky is sitting by the lake, attempting mindfulness meditation once again. It’s kind of working, he thinks. Thoughts floating down a river, picking up leaves and letting them go downstream.

“What are you doing?” Zani asks.

Mindfulness meditation was one of the first phrases he learned how to say in Xhosa because he figured having an answer for his usual activities would make him appear like a man with some sort of purpose and not the confused, out-of-time man he really is.

Zani sits down next to him, looking at his posture and mimicking him. “Now what?” she asks.

“Close your eyes,” he tells her. He walks her through some variation of a mindfulness exercise that sounds silly to his own ears. He sneaks glances at her, her shoulders loosening and she’s stopped fidgeting.

He shuts his eyes and hears her hum quietly. Sometimes he’s lucky when he attempts this – he actually reaches a point of true quieting of the mind, and this is one of those times. He feels the prickly grass under him, the heat of the sun on his face, hears the rustling of trees and chirping of birds. Zani. And then someone joins her. And another.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but eventually when he’s ready to open his eyes, there are a few children sitting near him and a few adults as well.

 _Uxolo_ is ‘peace’ in Xhosa, and it’s the first time he’s felt it in a very long time.

**

And for a while, it’s good.

**

This day is like the others before, except King T’Challa is arriving with guards. Bucky’s stomach drops.

He sees his metal arm and his body feels heavy, like he could fall and sink into the earth. He didn’t expect this to end, but he was allowing himself to be hopeful.

“Where’s the fight?” Bucky asks, unable to look up.

“On its way,” King T’Challa says.

His hand trembles when he puts it in, but once it’s secure, he almost forgot about the differences – the weight, reactiveness, quality. “Whoa,” he mutters involuntarily, stretching out the arm in front of him.

“Shuri wanted me to pass along a message,” King T’Challa adds, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“It’s okay, I don’t need to hear the ‘I told you so,’” Bucky says dryly.

“That was only part of it, the other part was, ‘you could’ve had it for the last few months but you were a stubborn fool.’”

Bucky snorts. “Got it.”

The best part is that he feels…like a person. Not so much as a weapon.

The kids come from the tree, bow to King T’Challa and rush to touch Bucky’s new arm. “This is very nice,” Thabo compliments.

“It is,” Bucky agrees.

“Even though it should’ve been green.”

Bucky grins.

Another soldier comes by and places a neatly folded pile of clothes for Bucky. When he changes into them, his first thought is that it’s too drab, which almost makes him laugh – how far the Winter Soldier has come.

“You can say goodbye,” King T’Challa says before walking away, deliberately giving Bucky space.

Saying goodbye to his sister was the hardest part about leaving America; seeing Zani and Thabo’s faces hurt his heart similarly.

“Will you come back?” Zani asks softly, her wide brown eyes wet with tears.

Mark Twain once wrote that history doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes. In 1943, he’d seen too many men make promises they ended up breaking; he made a few of his own, then. He’s now in the position to do the same.

“I will do my best,” Bucky says, because that’s at least a promise he can keep.

This time, he can hold them with two arms.

**

“You know,” King T’Challa starts saying to Bucky as they walk. “While your stay in Wakanda was a temporary solution to a problem, if you’d like, after this…we can discuss your staying here. If that’s something you want.”

Bucky looks at King T’Challa in disbelief.

King T’Challa smiles. “Don’t look so surprised. But don’t worry, you’ll have time to consider it. Although I’ll be honest, who wouldn’t want to live here?” He gestures around him.

Bucky smiles and shakes his head. “You know, I was thinking the same thing.”

Victory isn’t guaranteed, even when it’s good versus evil. His motivation to fight then and now haven’t waivered very much – his family is long gone now, but he still has Steve, he still has this world, and in particular, he has this small corner of it that restored some sense of self that he thought he lost. And he’ll do everything he can to give back.

Inspired, Bucky looks back to see Zani and Thabo still standing there, watching him go. He turns around, still walking, and does the Wakanda salute. He can see their faces brighten as they respond in turn.

When he turns back around, King T’Challa lightly touches Bucky’s back. “We’ve come a long way, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky hums in agreement. There’s still more to go, but first.

_Let’s get this son of a bitch._


End file.
